


In Need

by c_rush



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Homeless Gavin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Prostitution, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-28 10:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11416431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c_rush/pseuds/c_rush
Summary: It comes back in flashes that play before his eyes: stumbling drunk off his ass in a back alley, watching his dinner come up not quite as gracefully as it had gone down, then blackness, then more stumbling, looking over to see two men--a man and a boy--kissing; a boy with bruised lips and hazel eyes and a crooked nose and pale, pale skin.***Geoff wants to feel needed.  Gavin needs to feel wanted.





	1. He Meets Boy

**Author's Note:**

> First Achievement Hunter fanfic ever. Getting back into the swing of writing. Shaking off the cobwebs so verb tenses might change every once in a while. It also was the beginning of a different story so the first chapter isn't quite to the same speed as the rest but it gets there as it goes on. Enjoy.

He has never seen so many homeless people in one place, huddled together in the dark, figures in shadows fighting the chill of winter however they could. Maybe a couple thousand, by the smell of it. And, while that should have, might have put him a little on edge, most of his energy is spent fighting and losing against migraine, and trying to remember... _anything_. His vision swims but it was the overwhelming desire to sleep tugged hard at him, sending hi backwards into a fuzzy head space. He holds out for a few more seconds, just long enough to feel cool, gentle hands run across his forehead.

When he comes to the second time, it's light out. His stomach rolls, and when he leaned over to vomit, he notices several things, in this order: 1) he was on a sleeping bag, in a makeshift tent; 2) he still has a headache, but it was on a low broil this time and; 3) he is not alone. He can't even stop himself from trying to empty his stomach when he, 4) Geoff _(it took him way too long to remember his own name)_ , realized it's already empty. When he looks up, he finally takes stock of the presence he had felt, and smelled, which was crowded in the corner of the shanty tent.

"Sorry... couldn't hold it," he's able to rasp out, and holy shit does his throat hurt. His hand reflexively goes to his neck and he can feel tender, bruised imprints where, without a doubt, a hand print would fit. He looks up and the boy's eyes go wide. He puts his hands up in defense.

"S-sorry..." he mutters, looking down.

"Did you fuckin' do this to me?" It's easy enough to reach over and grab the cowering boy 5) with big hazel eyes and bruised wrists and pouty lips and crooked nose and dirty brown hair when the tent is no more than four feet across.

"N-no?" The boy looks up from behind his own trembling hands, looking at the hand that enveloped his wrists.

The boy looks looks perplexed, and that in turn cases Geoff's own brow to twitch. "Then, why apologize?"

"Because it's my fault?" It comes out as a question, wrapped in the boy's lovely British accent. When Geoff looks no more understanding than before, the boy says, "You don't remember? I... you got me out of... a situation."

'A situation' was another name for a hook-up. 'A situation' was another name for a trick. 

It comes back in flashes that play before his eyes: stumbling drunk off his ass in a back alley, watching his dinner come up not quite as gracefully as it had gone down, then blackness, then more stumbling, looking over to see two men--a man and a boy--kissing; a boy with bruised lips and hazel eyes and a crooked nose and pale, pale skin. They don't spot him but when Geoff sees pushing, hears quick and high pitched words stumble past the boys lips, more shoving, the man grabbing, squeezing the boy's neck, the boy swatting weakly at the other's face, thrashing, kicking,eyes screaming "help me" and Geoff feels his legs carrying him down the alley, delivering a punch with a satisfying **_thwack_** , but not enough to fell the guy. The guy, who, in turn, goes to strangle the life out of him, but the hazel eyed boy jumps on his back and, he could see through foggy sights, puts him in an effective choke hold. The man is bent back, arms up long enough for Geoff to give him all he's got, knocking him in the stomach before both he and the client goes down.

What a 'situation'.

"I remember..." he's able to drawl out, the thudding in his temples picking up tempo.

"Sorry."

The boy's voice is tight, like he's learned the taste of apologies is bitter like dandelion greens but there's nothing else to eat. His mouth then fumbles over something different, something sweeter, like a blackberry: "Thank you."

Geoff found it hard to say much but his tongue trips over "You're welcome." Any further questions die in his throat. Instead, he looks apologetically around the enclosed space, shifts to a seated position of the worn tent, and heads for the metaphorical door of the makeshift home. He gives one last look, daring himself to say _something_ , but the boy is focusing so hard on a spot on the ground, staring longingly as if just wishing would help him disappear. Geoff couldn't help but grant him the reprieve.

***

When Geoff runs into the boy, _literally_ , a second time, he barely has time to recognize it's the boy before he catches him, collapsed with fever and drenched in the ongoing rain. Geoff is perplexed but could admit to himself that he was out at this very moment to find said boy. And he did. So, all in all, a successful mission. But, he recognizes that he hadn't thought it through this far. Doesn't know what he'd do with a now passed out young street kid with a clumsy disposition and a penchant for godawful circumstance. Geoff settles on slinging him across his back, giving an unconscious piggyback ride to the boy who soaked into his skin.

It takes a little effort to rouse the boy who he had, with great difficulty, brought into his threshold. When he comes to, the boys eyes are glazed over and unfocused, as if he's trying to identify the face before him. Whether he recognizes Geoff or not, he doesn't say, but he gave a soft smile in thanks before slipping away. Geoff knows he has to do something, with or without the boy's consent, unfortunately. He worries, wonders briefly, what the boy would do if he saw some thirty-something-year-old covered in tats taking his paper thin t-shirt off and reaching, hesitantly, for his belt and his buttons and the zipper and _woah_ , okay, he was not prepared for commando but he carries on and keeps his eyes above the waist if he can help it until the naked, feverish boy is huddled under a towel in the corner of his bathroom, bathwater running.

The boy wakes up in a warm bath, leaning over the edge of the tub, to an attentive Geoff, who is using his own arm as a resting bench. The boy splashes back surprised but Geoff's grip is good, not too tight but firm, and he keeps a hold on him. He starts to explain--the rain, fever, it's late--but the boy just submerges his chest and shoulders and is blowing away at the generous mound of bubbles acting as a blanket for his chest and nether regions. 

Geoff can't help but to think... cute.

"Bugger me..." the boy whispered.

"I'll, uh.. I'll give you some privacy."

"Thanks," the boy chirps and Geoff sees the reddish blush as it spreads across the lad's face and remembers the fever. He goes to the cabinet and takes out two ibuprofen, slippery into the boy's wet hands. He goes out to he kitchen and back in seconds with a cool glass of water. The boy sits up and, with a careful hand, takes the glass. "Um..."

"Geoff."

"Gavin." 

And the boy, Gavin, smiles just a little, and Geoff melts, just a little. 

"A-anyway, Geoff," he tries it out in his tongue and Geoff watches as he hides a small smile, "I... thank you, again. It... you...I..." He looks lost for a minute, looks down, then leans his head back to take the pills. He submerges himself once more.

"Right. Privacy." Geoff tries, to leave the bathroom without being too awkward, with varying degrees of success.

When Gavin emerges--somewhat belatedly due to the lack of clothing, which Geoff does remedy--he is greeted by a pile of blankets and a TV dinner next to a plush looking suede sofa. Geoff sits across from him in a matching arm chair, watching the Gavin, all awkward limbs and angles, eat what is supposed to be a chicken fried steak patty. He sets a mental reminder to go grocery shopping soon. He mumbles and offer to stay the night and after Gavin nods his head to agree, he makes his way to to the floor where he's set up a sleeping bag--that's studio living for you--and wishes the boy goodnight. He's almost asleep before he hears a fleeting "goodnight" in the air.

When he wakes, its a slow crawl back to reality where a beautiful boy is sleeping fitfully on the couch next to him. Finally when he can focus his sights, he notices first the boy's furrowed brow, then the way he bites his lip in a snarl, then the way his hands hold on tight, too tight, to the bunched up sheets. Geoff rolls to a seated position, and ventures a cautious hand forward to smooth Gavin's hair but the boy is a damn light sleeper and his eyes are open before he can even land his hand but goddamn it, Geoff's an adult, not some nervous school boy, so his hand comes to rest on Gavin's head, and Gavin squawks. He fluffs up the surprisingly soft and noticeably cleaner hair.

He doesn't meet Gavin's eyes but he mumbles, "Pancakes or waffles?"

Gavin sits up so fast and looks like Geoff just offered him Christmas now. His face is flushed--fever?--and with a lopsided, toothy grin, he answers, "Pancakes, please!"

And he can't really deny that his heart sped, if only a little, for no reason at all, nope, none. He puts his hands on his knees and stands, grinning like he's heard a swear from a child. Goddamn, he must be getting old. "Ya got good taste, kid."

***

Gavin is laid up for three days recovering from fever. The pain comes and goes, and aspirin is always on hand, and soon enough "recovering" looks like binge watching internet TV shows and movies, and copious hours in front of an Xbox. Halo, Skyrim, Peggle--Geoff makes sure to expose him to everything and anything he has on hand, which is quite a lot, thank you very much. But he can see that Gavin is... unfamiliar, and awkward with the controller. He doesn't play when Geoff isn't around, though Geoff insists it's fine when he heads out the door for groceries. Geoff ~~doesn't~~ likes to brag and Gavin calls him an unassuming pro in the kitchen, who makes morning pancakes and the best applewood bacon wrapped porkchops and brussel sprouts that are not only edible but delectable and--

And on the third day, his fever breaks. It takes, apparently, three days for Geoff to find the courage to manage:

"You could stay... for longer..."

But instead of relief, Gavin looks like he's going to run, like he's going to flip out, so Geoff is quick to back track.

"O-only if you want! Like, at least until this weather stops," he indicates the weather channel, temperatures dipping into the low 40's, predicting rain for another day.

Gavin looks away, embarrassed, it seems like. "R-right, til the rain..."

And, maybe it's the last day, and the end is real, they start talking. Really talking.

"So, what were you doing that night? Other than spewing chunks in an alley..."

Geoff tosses a pillow his way none too kindly but the smile teases out on his lips. He gets up from the floor to grab himself a beer and takes a seat this time on the couch, pushing Gavin's legs out of the seat.

"I was mourning love lost," Geoff says, almost thoughtfully. When he doesn't continue, Gavin smacks his arm.

"Well, go on!"

"What?" Geoff whines. "We were dating one minute and we weren't the next!" When Gavin gives him the look that says _that's definitely not it_ , Geoff just shakes his head and musses Gavin's hair. Gavin makes an abrupt squeaking noise and Geoff takes a pause drinking to laugh.

"What was she like?" Gavin asks, attempting to fix his hair but leaving it more haphazard than before.

Geoff it thoughtful, actually thoughtful, for a full minute. "She was just... badass... She didn't take shit from anyone, she was beautiful and a lady and a monster all in one." He sounds, is, awestruck at the woman who had broken his heart. "She... I didn't have to... to take care of her, or give her anything, or... I didn't... feel needed."

( _And Geoff hates how his voice cracks and he feels... vulnerable. But, somehow, he doesn't really mind._ )

"Yeah," Gavin offers, says, "it's nice to feel wanted."

Gavin tells a story.

He tells the story of a boy and his mum, coming to the states to feel safe. Come to feel wanted. Mum has no family here, they start fresh. She works two jobs, works late, works her ass off, works her ass into go-go boots and booty shorts for her boy. They grow up together, grow up poor, always too poor and in need. And no aid comes. He tells a story about men who transform into monsters, whose many hands leave many hand prints on the things they touch--the furniture, his mother--and then the hands come for him. When the first hand rises, it tells him not to scream. He tells it that'll cost him. And, soon, all he can see are the hands that down him and drag him under. His mother works but she's weary, so tired, and soon there's a weight to her that sleep cannot solve and she's scared and he's scared because there's never enough, never right enough to buy into the idea of "comfort" and there just wouldn't be enough, not for any of them and--

And then it doesn't matter. She expires without fanfare. And there's no house to take, no assets to claim, and no eyes on the quiet boy who slips out the back of everyone's mind.


	2. How to Tame a Hand Grenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin gets comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RTX was awesome. Back to writing. Comments and constructive criticism appreciated.  
> The writing style is kind of stream-of-consciousness oriented but I'm going to play around until I find a style I like and I'm comfortable with.

Gavin stays. For now. It rains on the next day and despite this, he talks himself into wanting to leave the cozy studio apartment. Geoff goes to work today, and Gavin knows it's better to run when Geoff isn't home, when he can't be so charming and funny and _bollocking hell_ he can't go now, not when Geoff offered to "make a rib-eye so good you'd cream your pants" and he hated imagining Geoff so disappointed. But he prepares his heart for the painful separation. In all his years of life, Gavin had never imagined he deserved this kind of life, with this kind of casual kinship. For someone to care about him, at least a little.

Never get too comfortable. Never count on anything you can't grip with your own two hands.

He holds Geoff's things. He holds the passport of one Geoffrey Ramsey, crammed underneath the couch cushions, examines the stamps from Heathrow, from Newark, recalls conversations-

> ["So, you're not from here..."
> 
> "Bloody think not. Oxfordshire, me an' me mum an... uh, no one," Gavin looks up at Geoff to see him looking expectantly, but Gavin says no more, changes gears. "Ever been to England?"
> 
> "Yeah, actually, I have. Once. For a... conference." Gavin cocks his head, hears half-truths in the way Geoff speaks, faint lies that mirror his own.
> 
> "Pretty far for a conference. what is it you do?"
> 
> Geoff grins wide. "I deal in information."
> 
> And Gavin can hear half-truths there too.]

Gavin spends the afternoon alone, lost in thinking and physical things, examining photographs still displayed: Geoff smiling with a woman wielding a chainsaw, a bearded man and Geoff holding up half emptied beer steins, Geoff alone, fishing.

Gavin reaches the Xbox and turns on Peggle and even jumps up excitedly from his set, throwing his hands in the air when he completes a level, and the come down is sharp and swift because who _**cares** about you filthy worthless idiot stupid--_

Gavin has his belongings--one t-shirt and faded jeans--in his hand and he's ready to bolt before the door opens steadily and Geoff is there looking at Gavin who is looking at Geoff who is looking at the clothes in Gavin's hands and Gavin's looking at the clock because it's barely noon and damnit why'd he have to get caught red-handed because now he feels ashamed. But Geoff just holds up a bag of fast food and sheepishly grins at Gavin who's coaxed down from the ledge, just a little, as they eat spicy chicken and smokey baked beans and watch a side-splitting television show about a gang of awesome idiots. Geoff is washing his hands at the sink and Gavin is nursing his food baby when he realizes how ardently he wants to stay. Geoff dries his hands and ruffles Gavin's hair and is well on his way back to work when Gavin starts crying.

Until you can grasp it with your own two hands... Gavin didn't realize the pain and the crushing weight of holding everything he could never have.

He's still in the apartment by the time Geoff comes home, but Gavin holds himself at a distance, the comfortable pattern they had fallen into over the past few days now stilted. But Geoff doesn't even seem to notice. He cooks a steak and as much as Gavin hopes it sucks, tastes like ash in his mouth, it doesn't. It's succulent, perfectly seasoned, a damn fine steak, like the sweet cream that fattens a housecat and makes him lazy.

Gavin doesn't wait for dawn to leave.

But, he comes back, on occasion.

Like, when it rains for a week straight and the shanty town is flooded. Gavin wants to return the clothes he borrowed but Geoff doesn't let him. Instead, they keep dry and power through a Destiny raid, though Gavin is essentially useless, and he busies himself instead with posing farfetched hypotheticals--

"Wot if, every time you took a piss, your willy gets bigger?"

"What? So?"

"How long until, like, it's too much? Gotta wrap it around your leg an' all that, it'd be ridiculous wouldn't it?" Gavin laughs as he falls into the abyss, again.

Geoff groans. "But you can't just stop peeing, idiot."

"You get a surgery. You pee outta your bumhole now."

"Gavin, pick up the damn controller. Also, that makes no fucking sense."

"Million dollars, would you do it?"

"What? You're a moron." They watch as Crota let out a blinding light, a dying screech. And then: "Wait, does your butthole get bigger too?" Gavin laughs, and Geoff laughs.

Gavin likes it when Geoff laughs. It's like that laugh could cure diseases, stop natural disasters in their tracks. Like that laugh, the high, sporadic breathes and pitchy staccato seemed to say, "hey, it's okay." And, most days, Gavin could believe it.

Like the day he comes back because of Charlie. Charlie is some muscle headed bouncer who let Gavin scavenge for food in the kitchen after hours, when no one was looking, when the doors were locked up for the night. For a price, anyway. And, this time, the price was no condoms because Gavin looked so pretty and so fresh and so clean and Charlie wanted to be the first to _defile_ him that night, make his claim. And Gavin can't even say no because he's fucking hungry and three meals a day was nice and he thinks it's okay, that he can do it, but he can't, and Charlie doesn't hear "no", doesn't take "no." Instead he takes the "please no" and "stop" and in his head turns them into "more, more." By the time Gavin drags himself to Geoff's doorstep he almost reconsiders, almost tells himself that he deserved it, made a deal for it, that he should just shut up and deal with it when Geoff is there, hold him still, brushing away the tears he wasn't aware were falling. Then he feels so pathetic and weak that he doesn't fight it, he lets himself be ushered inside and sat down on a couch he's worried he'll stain. Gavin says nothing for a long time, just focuses on the rising and falling of his own chest, of the visual of himself safe inside a hammock in his own heart, that he misses it the first time Geoff says it, but realizes Geoff is waiting for response.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said, a million dollars but every time you sneeze--"

"I'd probably do anything for a million dollars," Gavin says and his voice is tight and he doesn't want to cry, doesn't want to cry but

"Okay, spoilsport..." and a look crosses Geoff's face that could only be described as absolutely cheeky. "Wet bread smoothie."

"Wot?"

Geoff gets up now, going into his kitchen and rummaging around in his cupboards. "You heard me--a wet bread smoothie. Nothin' but water and some wet bred, blend it up real good--" Geoff has a slice of bread in his hand and moved his blender to the counter.

"Geoff, c'mon, stop it." Gavin sounds distressed, _is_ distressed because he's turned on the blender and, "Oh my God, gross, stop it!"

Gavin gags hard, legitimately misty-eyed at the even the idea, and Gavin hears that laugh and maybe everything isn't fixed, but it's not too bad. Geoff tousles his hair and hugs him hard and Gavin's heart hitches in a painful way. He excuses himself and cries in the shower and hugs his worn body the way Geoff hugged it. He falls asleep on a familiar couch and wakes to pancakes and a charming man and a laugh that could cure cancer.

***

He meets the bearded man, Jack, on accident, the way a child accidentally stays up past bedtime: too much comfort, not enough caution. He almost thinks the caution is unnecessary, that he could dare to feel welcomed in Geoff's place, but he begins to worry as voices approach from outside.

"...at work. But what about you? How goes... whatever you've been doing? Or are you more concerned about this damn raid you called me in for?"

"Oh my Gaaawd," Geoff stretches out in a whine. "I died, like, seven hundred times with this guy!"

"What'd you expect from a level 23 on the Kings Fall raid?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm just so fucking done blowing up every ten minutes--"

"He stayed alive for ten minutes? That's kinda impressive."

"Anyway! Thanks for doing this. I just wanna progress further so we can do other things together and--"

They walk in on Gavin in his skivvies ( _in his defense, he was doing laundry and didn't want to take more of Geoff's nice jeans_ )and an oversize t-shirt from Geoff that said "Team OG" on the back. The look that flashes across Geoff's face is part dismay, part desperation, and something else unreadable. Whatever Geoff is going to say dies in his throat.

"Who the hell is--is that our team shirt? Geoff, why is there a filthy teenager in his underwear in your livingroom slash bedroom?" Jack is a bigger guy, with an affable face and a big ginger beard and It seems Jack had many questions. Which, to Gavin, meant he was a secret. Which meant he was something shameful to be hidden away.

Gavin goes pale and Geoff must have noticed because he began nervously, placatingly. "Jack, this is Gav--"

But Gavin is quick. He grabs his things, still damp from the dryer in the hallway, putting his own faded jeans on, looking longingly at the ones Geoff loaned him, them putting them back in the dryer. He heard his name being called, somewhere faintly in his mind, but he didn't stop, and is down the sidewalk when he feels a tug at his arm, being spun into Geoff. He shoves at Geoff and Geoff lets him go.

"He-he was kidding, w-we call everybody filthy casuals, which is really immature, but we--"

"I don't need it," Gavin whispered.

_I don't need it. The comfort,_ Gavin thought. _I don't need to play video games or sleep or a comfortable couch or to eat steak or even f-feel safe at night, I don't need it because I don't need it because I can't have it and why waste your time on something that won't come true._

"What?"

"I don't need it!" he shouts, causing Geoff to flinch. He stares hard at the ground and then screws his eyes shut. "I don't..." And Geoff doesn't ask, wouldn't ask, would he? Why would he care what-- "I just need," Gavin clips his own thoughts short, "um...l-let me use your shower, once a week, just to...feel...clean. I-I can pay you, like five quid a week and--"

"You don't--"

"Please!" and his voice is shrill and his voice is desperate like he's moments from revealing a very shameful side, like he's moments from crying. "Just let me..."

"Okay, okay... but you an, like, come back to visit, any time, whenever--"

"Bye Geoff."

Gavin walks away mid sentence. Gavin walks away like he's never walked away from a bad situation before that's what Geoff is, a bad situation. Because what would he do when he finally goes and screws the pooch, ruins it all, when the other shoe drops. Geoff is nice, but there were "nice" before and sometimes "nice" hurt the most. And it wasn't just physical hurt he worried for--Gavin was a fuck up. He had been told that his whole life and knows it to be true, so what happens when he breaks the Xbox or overstays his welcome or wants too much or hopes too much or the idea of taking care of a homeless runaway idiot prostitute suddenly seems beyond doing. Either way, he's out on his ass and the world's laughing at him for thinking he could be brought in from the wild because it's less like taking in a stray cat and more like taming a hand grenade.

So, when he comes back the first time, he's glad Geoff isn't there. He leaves Gavin his house key inside the mailbox and gives Gavin the mailbox key--less critical to lose. Geoff isn't there but there's a wrapped deli sandwich and a bag of crisps and both a Redbull and a Corona. Gavin leaves ten dollars but takes the sandwich and the Redbull. He savors the taste of the chicken club sandwich and energy drink, hadn't eaten anything but dried ramen and stale snack cakes for the past week. He casts sidelong glances at the Xbox and is a little taken aback to see Destiny started with his character up, two levels higher than when he left. He grinds an hour and a half away before finding the right look to gain another level, then hurries to the shower, noting that Geoff could be back at any minute, and that the comfortable feeling of home costs more than that tenner on the table covered.

The second time he doesn't bother with the extra five but he takes the sandwich and drink still. He's angry and doesn't check before he barges into the living room, see's Jack halfway before seated and standing, and pauses. Jack's side was painted with bruises but he still stares at Gavin like he had two heads. Must've been the black eye. But before the spell could be broken, Gav turns on his heels, takes three hasty steps, and is out the door.

The third time he's in the shower when he hears the murmuring voices. He hopes it's just Geoff, watching a show or talking or the phone or whatever, but he hears otherwise.

"--ault is that, huh?"

"Well, fuck me, I said I was sorry at least a hundred times, Geoff. Anyway, you gotta look a him. He looks like death warmed over. Maybe you could..."

Jack must do some gesticulating because all Geoff says is, "Uh-huh."

Gavin takes a look at himself in the mirror. His too-thin frame is littered with knicks and cuts and bruises sustained from hard sleeping grounds. His lips are a little dry and his hands and his hips are a little sore and maybe his knees were always scraped up and stiff and you know what, _sod this_ , he didn't need their shit, their judgement, didn't need it!

He throws open the door and smirks when they both jump but doesn't relish it, doesn't stay still long enough and he's almost to the door when Geoff grabs his arm.

"H-hey, where--"

"I don't bloody need this!" His voice is so shrill he can't help but think he sounds like a bird. He turns to Geoff, pulling his arms free. "And I don't need _you_ , either."

He feels triumphant, leaving like that, both of those arrogant pricks knowing he didn't need a damn thing, he was fine on his own. He didn't need anything.

Except for the next time he comes back, three weeks later. Then he needs someone to call in ambulance.

Someone for the love of God call an ambulance because everything hurts and he's bleeding from everywhere and Goddamnit couldn't he just do one thing right. And he's shaking when he thinks of it, some kind of heist gone wrong or gone right but he was just there to pick up a shift or two as an undocumented worker at the bar, courtesy of Charlie, steal some food maybe even knick the liquor but some big shot loudmouths calling themselves the Lost MC crew or something come in and buy bottles on bottles on bottles and poor old Gavvy had to get greedy, had to also knick the guy's wallet an he'd almost gotten away with it, til he didn't, til they chased him down and left him as good as dead in an alley. But his stupid jebby legs had to carry him a few thousand advil or a bullet to the brain or--

Or Geoff's broken voice as he screams, "Jesus, dicks."

"Keep it down, will you..." Gavin breathes as faint as a whisper.

"Dude, what the shit happened to you?"

"Some crew got a little rowdy at Red Wings... Bugger my ass, didn't even have more than a few hundred quid anyway."

"Jesus, dude, sit down... Jack!"

"Great, that twat waffle's here now too," Gavin groaned. He can hear him shuffling to the bathroom, clattering something around in the cabinets.

"Yeah, yeah, just get inside and get over here and shut up."

Or Jack's gentle, patient hands probing and relieving his every injury. And it's Jack's gentle, firm hand on his chest, the sincere look in his eyes and his steady voice when he says, "Stay."

And Gavin tries. Really he does.

They're squeezed in the livingroom, Jack checking in on his languidly bleeding head wound and Geoff hooking up his Xbox. Gavin tries not to flinch when Jack's hand cards through his hair. He doesn't, but he notices how Jack stops, looks sheepishly aware, and moves away. Gavin watches Jack throughout the night and it's revealed in small ways--sidelong glances at his back, gentle touches when they pass the controller to and fro, an appreciate glance at his pert posterior--that Jack has a thing for one Geoff Ramsey. And his suspicions are further confirmed when Geoff runs his hands down Jack's spine when he thinks Gavin's not looking. Gavin shrugs, isn't judging, really, but he finds it interesting that perhaps the feeling of unease inside of him is jealousy. He mulls it over a bit but decides it doesn't sit well. Instead, he imagines himself being coddled by Geoff, hair affectionately tousled, kisses placed down his neck. He imagines it a little differently with Jack, who'd just hold him, maybe hand feed him grapes. Softly, Gavin chuckles and groans as the bandages across his side shift uncomfortably. 

Geoff didn't set ground rules, per say, but he is home every night, him or Jack, and they invite Gavin to play Destiny or to cook dinner or to watch some stupid show or to go shopping or even to make him bloody do the laundry, that Jack, but they come home every night so he's home every night and he sleeps during the day and was always around for lunch because usually someone else was too. And sometimes he felt...

And sometimes, he felt bloody annoyed. Wasn't much privacy in a studio apartment, and always having one or both men meant that the bathroom or the mid afternoon silence in the apartment was his solitude. At first, in the first week, they were careful and overly nice, then they felt comfortable that they were two old farts teaming up against one dumb Brit. It started innocently enough--headlight fluid--but sometimes, whenever Gavin wasn't exactly clear with his wording--"does rocks float on lava"--whenever he brought up a British term, or blatant science misconceptions. Sometimes he'd be right pissed, like when Geoff farted in his coffee, or when Jack had legitimately thrown him out of his seat ("Don't you mean _my_ chair?"). There was a tense period of time where Gavin would disappear after dinner, evade them through alleys he knew better than either of them could ever know, but he'd always be back by midnight. He learns to laugh at himself more, knowing they mean no harm really, and the next month moves along far more smoothly.

And then Geoff goes away for a while. For about a week straight, Jack looks nervous. Gavin would listen in to Jack's secret phone calls at two or three in the morning, and they'd be only a word or two, but afterwards Jack would always have to breathe in soft, measured ten counts before he could fall asleep again. Gavin waits too long before he finally asks but isn't comforted when Jack just shrugs.

["Seriously? Isn't he like your boyfriend?"

"Do you see us touching tips in the livingroom?"

"I-but- anyway, you--"

"He's on assignment and I sure as shit don't know what it is so it won't do any goddamn good asking about it all the time, geez, Gavin..."

A sharp intake of air. Jack.

A measured silence. Gavin.

"On assignment... I thought he was an accountant or something... what exactly kind of 'information' does he deal in?"

"Gavin, shut up."]

It's almost two weeks when Geoff comes back. He walks in on Gavin nuzzled into Jack's right shoulder but both turn and look and swarm to Geoff, who sports a cast on his left arm and a shiny black eye but looking washing and clean, but very tired. Geoff doesn't hesitate, and they all meet each other in the middle for a hug, and he pulls them into him, Gavin first, then Jack, which surprises Gavin but he doesn't flinch and doesn't question why he leans in to the touch.

["So, what was it like?" Jack finally asks, voice low, when he thinks Gavin is sleeping, which was bloody 45 minutes of faking it, mind you.

"It was awesome and terrifying and honestly..."

"Honestly?"

"I think we could do it." It's then that Gavin has to imagine the look on his face, cocksure, a lopsided grin, willful eyes gleaming in the night. "I think we could run a crew. Burns is giving me the chance and I'm gonna take it."

"...Yeah. Congratulations." The celebration sounded hollow and wounded from Jack.]

When Geoff gets back, everything is very much the same, but just a little different. Same relentless teasing, different affectionate tone. Some video game sessions, different seating, with Geoff forcing Gavin to sit between his legs (though Gavin doesn't mind, really, being the little spoon). Now sidelong glances at Jack, but he acts on them, catching Jack in the first of many passionate kisses, the first during a particularly invigorating match of Rocket League online. Gavin must stare a little so Geoff pulls him close and plants a wet one on his cheek--an indirect kiss from Jack, huh. He makes a big deal about in and Geoff laughs that healing laugh and Gavin steals a glance at Jack whose rosy red tint almost matches his own, but Jack hadn't been drinking and the blissed-out glaze in his eyes and the full, love-laden smile across his face was enough of a tell.

Gavin feels the beginning of the end. End of what, he's not sure. But he's scared.

Something in the way Geoff presses a kiss to his forehead when he goes away for three days. The way Jack comes home tired, trying to hide callouses on his palms and the smell of medicated bandages and tape beneath his clothing. Geoff was gone to Jack's place a lot lately--he left enough noes saying so, but never invited Gavin along. Curious. but he could see it in all the ways, the little ways that everything changed. 

So, he gets up one morning and goes for a run

...and never comes back.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcomed and appreciated. 
> 
> Btw, the chapter is called "He Meets Boy" because the first time I wrote it I didn't have a name for these characters so Geoff was "He" and Gavin was "the boy".


End file.
